


somewhere between i want it and i got it

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM kink, Choking Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, clarke really has a thing™ for bellamy's hands in this one, don't look too hard for a plot guys lmao this is kinktober, enemies to lovers (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: Clarke goes to work every day, her winged eyeliner sharpened like a knife, with confidence in her high-heeled step, to let these fuckers know that she’s here to stay.She will not bring them coffee. She will not smile when they tell her to.And, as she assured herself of last night, if she wants to fuck her fellow associate in the elevator after hours, there’s nothing they can do about it.or: Clarke really wants Bellamy's hands around her throat, even if he drives her up the wall most days.





	somewhere between i want it and i got it

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Kinktober fic! 🎃 😏
> 
> I've never written anything with a specific kink before, but this was so much fun! Bear in mind, though, there's hardly any plot and don't expect an accurate depiction of what lawyers do because that's really not the point here... the point is I wanted to write something smutty, and this is the result. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Maybe there’s no point in doing her hair bun this neatly when he could ruin it like he did last night. Her scarlet lipstick was smudged, too. Still, this is her armor, her badge of resistance in the male-dominated law firm. Clarke goes to work every day, her winged eyeliner sharpened like a knife, with confidence in her high-heeled step, to let these fuckers know that _ she’s here to stay. _

She will not bring them coffee. She will not smile when they tell her to. 

And, as she assured herself of last night, if she wants to fuck her fellow associate in the elevator after hours, there’s nothing they can do about it. 

For the past month, she and Bellamy have both been struggling to find the golden piece of evidence that could put Cage Wallace behind bars. He’s a CEO with a net worth of twenty-two _billion_ dollars, and the people who could potentially help their case against him are so far up his ass that they never see the light of day. 

But a new witness came forward last night, which she and Bellamy… _ celebrated, _even though they aren’t a team — far from it, actually. After arriving at the office, she finds him next to the coffee machine, sipping on his double-shot of espresso. He doesn’t smile at her or tell her good morning because civility isn’t their strong suit. 

Pressing the latté button, Clarke glances at his forearms, which are exposed under the cuffed sleeves of his shirt.

Because he ignores her, she feels the need to say, “Don’t think that last night will be repeated.” 

The corner of Bellamy’s mouth curves upward in a smirk. “I wasn’t thinking that, Princess.” When the nickname falls off his tongue, it sounds different; darker, as though being uttered while he was inside her has fundamentally changed its tone. 

She shudders, feeling his heavy gaze on her before he leaves the break room. 

They started working at the firm around the same time, so their rivalry was pretty much destined; they were both eager to impress and work the best cases, which has made it difficult to establish a cordial relationship. The fact that they come from wildly different backgrounds didn’t help at all, either. According to him, she’s a privileged princess born into the dazzling, carefree world of New York City, and she had her entire future delivered on a silver platter as a child. He holds her fancy Manhattan apartment and her mother’s luxurious cocktail parties in contempt.

Eventually, Clarke was told that he had to work his way through school because his mother died when he was nineteen; it’s not easy for someone from the lower middle class of America to climb their way up the social ladder, but somehow he’s managed to do it, and ever since she learned of that it’s been hard _ not _ to understand why he resents her. 

However, when he assumed that her dad secured the position at the firm for her by snapping his fingers, she felt compelled to say that her dad is dead. 

It’s been two weeks since she told him. She never intended to. 

She never intended to fuck him in the elevator either, but life happens.

Because of that, she has to live with knowing how much her walls have to stretch to accommodate him. But the worst part is that she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget his hands; not just their size, but the warm and rough skin that encases them. Yesterday, she could barely keep herself from admitting how badly she wants them around her throat — and now, she’s ruined her chances of ever experiencing it. 

_ Damn it. _

The next time they talk is half an hour before their lunch break. He brings her a new almond milk latté and doesn’t walk back to his own desk, causing her to raise an eyebrow at him. “What do you want, Blake?” 

“How’s your search going?” 

Trying to suppress the smirk that wants to conquer her lips, Clarke takes a sip of her coffee. “Oh, you care suddenly?”

Bellamy rubs the bridge of his nose. “Look, we’re both trying to nail Wallace—”

“Ew. Speak for yourself.”

At that comment, he huffs. “How mature of you. Anyway, don’t you think our chances of getting him convicted are better if we, you know, _ share _ our findings? We have to compile a bulletproof case, after all. I just hope you don’t make me regret suggesting this.” 

To say that she’s floored by his proposal would be the understatement of the century. Even though the atmosphere between them has been much less hostile as of late, she would’ve never expected him to want to _join forces _with her. On the other hand, what sets Bellamy apart from the other men at the firm is that he’s never insulted her intelligence, so maybe it’s not impossible for this arrangement to be fruitful. 

“You think we can work on this case together? Without killing each other?”

“I’ll take the chance if you will. In my eyes, the most important thing is building the strongest case. I’ve already given up my sleep. I won’t let him get away with this, and I know you won’t either.”

Clarke knows that what Bellamy’s saying between the lines is ‘_I think we have the best chance of beating this asshole together,’ _and something about that makes warmth swirl in her chest. More than anything, she wants him to be right about this. 

Offering him a smile, she says, “Tell me what you’ve been looking at.” 

Time flies as they review all of the evidence together, reading through the police reports, phone records, business contracts, and email lists. At one moment, he’s bringing his chair to her desk so that they can work side-by-side, and at the next the sun is setting outside, vermilion rays glittering as they hit the glass of the skyscrapers. 

“Fuck this shit,” Bellamy concludes, raking his hands through his unruly hair, seemingly unaware of how drawn Clarke is to them. “Nothing in here matches up with the information that Oakland provided.”

Struggling against the sudden drought in her throat, she replies, “I don’t think she would lie. There has to be _ something _we can tie it to.” 

“I’m not saying she lied,” he quickly clarifies and raises his dark brown eyes to meet hers. “I’m saying that Wallace is way too good at covering his tracks.” 

The way his voice drops into gruffness reveals his frustration. Although she knows that she shouldn’t be turned on by it right now, the last time she heard him speak like this was while he slammed into her and dragged his lips along her jawline. Needless to say, this fact makes it hard to focus. 

Until the last hint of sunlight dies on the horizon, they keep working, but their shift ends before the magical clue has turned up. When their boss, Anya, leaves her glass-walled office, she nods at them. It’s the only thanks they get for being the last two people here, working overtime on a Friday night. Then she heads towards the elevator, ignorant of the _ improper _act that happened in there the last time she left them alone together.

But _ they _ are oh-so aware of it. 

As her cheeks start to burn, Clarke gathers a small pile of files in her folder and is about to drop it into her bag when Bellamy’s hand clasps around her wrist; the heat from it seeps into her sensitive skin. “What do you think you’re doing, Princess?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she bites at him. “I’m going to bring some of this shit home. I don’t exactly _ wish _to spend my Friday night going through this bastard’s personal emails, but it’s what has to be done. We’re never gonna win this case if we’re not prepared.” 

For once, it seems that her frustration doesn’t wear off on him. Smirking, he removes his square-rimmed reading glasses and looks at her. Unless her eyes are playing a trick on her, the familiar sparks in his eyes have caught fire. “How _ do _you wish to spend your Friday night?”

_ Oh, well. _If he really wants to know, there’s no reason to lie. “Preferably, drinking too much red wine and letting my vibrator do its magic. With luck, I’d be able to forget about this case for a hot minute.” 

Bellamy clenches his jaw, fixing the cuffed sleeves of his shirt that have become slightly creased throughout the day. Then he bumps his ankle against hers, and says, his voice carrying no hint of shame, “I could make you forget about it for much longer.” 

Before they can part of their own accord, Clarke presses her lips to a tight line. “I don’t need that.” 

Much to her irritation, this response doesn’t make his smirk waver. “Maybe you don’t need it, but do you _ want _it?”

She doesn’t give him an answer until fifteen minutes later, while they’re both in the parking garage, digging their keys out of their pockets. Clarke looks at her reflection in the glass of the car window, at the scarlet lipstick and the tight pencil skirt that she wants him to free her of. Then, though her heart is beating a tattoo against her ribcage, she whips around. 

Bellamy’s already staring at her.

As she steps towards his SUV, she sighs, “Okay. Take me home.”

* * *

They choose to use the elevator to get to her floor because no one wants to climb eleven flights of stairs. As soon as the metal doors have closed, Bellamy presses her against the wall and takes her lower lip between his teeth, and the sting sends tremors up her spine. A low moan escapes her throat when he kisses her, wasting no time before deepening it. He tastes of _ too much coffee, _but the scent that surrounds her has just the right balance between spicy and sweet; it near-addictive, makes her blood run faster.

Despite this, Clarke swats his hand away before his fingers can sneak past the hem of her skirt. 

Tonight, she’s determined to keep her clothes on until they’re locked away safely. 

Bellamy smirks against her mouth, kisses her throat while she’s trying to unlock her front door. Finally, at the third attempt, the lock unlatches. Once they’re inside, Clarke grabs him by the shirt collar and pins him to the closet in the hallway. 

“Didn’t you want red wine before this part?” he asks, clearly amused by her determination to remove his tie. 

Rolling her eyes, Clarke loosens the knot and runs the slick material through her hands. “This might be useful later,” she remarks, causing him to_ growl. _

To her relief, he cuts the rest of the bullshit and slips his hand underneath her skirt, yanks her panties down her legs. 

“I bet you’re already soaked for me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Blake,” Clarke retorts immediately, but her sass is weakened when his fingers spread her folds apart, and yet he doesn’t push them inside her. Instead, he gathers some of the arousal at her slit. When he curses into her ear, she feels her face flush with heat.

_ Fuck. He’s too smug about this. _

If she wants her pride to stay intact, she has to do something to gain control. For some reason, the only thing she can think of is to palm his ass. His breath stutters at the unexpected touch, though the effect of it doesn’t last long, and he makes another power move by lifting her off the ground. Partially in annoyance, she kicks her black stilettos off and tugs at his curly hair. 

They don’t make it_ onto _her bed. Rather, they fall to their knees at the end of it, still half-dressed, and he pushes into her from behind, groaning loudly against her shoulder. 

In many ways, this is exactly like the first time: his thrusts are hard yet controlled, making her double over and moan into the crisp bed sheets. The only differences are his silence — last night his filthy praise for her was never-ending — and the sensation of his belt buckle hitting the back of her thigh with each movement. 

Something tells her that he isn’t aware of it, not until the first whimper leaves her lips. At the sudden sound, he freezes. 

“_Shit, _ I’m so sorry. It’s been doing that the whole time?”

“Yeah,” Clarke chokes out, trying not to pay attention to the rush of wetness between her legs. Her face is already hot and blotchy enough. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” his voice is gentler than she’s ever heard it, which is confusing. When she doesn’t immediately respond, the truth seems to dawn on him. “Oh, you like it?” Although he sounds intrigued, she hears him pull his belt from the hoops. 

In case this isn’t something he’s _ that _into, Clarke doesn’t want to come off as too excited, so she puts a damper on her response. “Uh, kinda... Are you surprised?”

She can hear the grin in his voice when he replies, “Not at all, actually_. _” Despite this, his next words sound incredibly serious, “You’re definitely gonna bruise, though. I’m not sure I like that.” Then he caresses the tender area with his thumb, causing her heart to flutter for a second. 

“It’s okay.” Unsure of how to deal with the unfamiliar sweetness that he’s showing, Clarke rolls her ass against his erection. “Just fuck me.” 

Bellamy places his hand at the back of her neck, pressing her forehead further into the mattress. Like this, she can feel his warm, calloused fingertips against her pulse point, and the mere thought of them compressing her throat makes her pant. 

When he removes his hand, curling it around her hip instead, disappointment settles in her lower stomach like a heavy brick. 

She thinks about him choking her while they fuck, and — in the end — it’s what brings her over the edge. Sure, the head of his cock rubbing her g-spot helped, but it would’ve taken a lot more if it weren’t for the vivid fantasy of his hands wrapped around her throat. 

As much as she wants it to become reality, saying ‘_please choke me’ _to her fellow associate is a risk that she’s not sure she’s prepared to take — especially because being honest about this particular kink has not gone well with her former partners: Finn flat-out refused to even try, Lexa was willing but didn’t seem into it, and Niylah was too kind for “that sort of thing”. 

Even if she had the courage to share it, it’s too late now. They’ve both come, they got what they wanted from each other, and he will leave soon. When they see each other at work on Monday, they’ll pretend as if nothing happened. 

Except, Bellamy doesn’t leave. 

“I distinctly remember you promising red wine.”

“That was for _ me,_” she clarifies, watching him pull his boxer briefs back on. 

He winks at her. “Come on, Princess. Sharing is caring.”

When she feels her face heat up, she turns to leave the bedroom and hopes that he didn’t notice her reaction.

In the kitchen cupboards, she finds two crystal wine glasses and pulls her favorite bottle of Merlot from the rack above the stove. Maybe she shouldn’t be wasting such great alcohol on him, but it’s been a long day, and they both need it. Moreover, her skin is still vibrating from his touch, which leaves her a bit too dazed for greediness. 

For someone who has often proclaimed his hatred for “elitist shit”, Bellamy looks far too comfortable on her white designer couch. He’s shirtless and grinning brightly at her when she puts the glasses down on the coffee table. 

“So, how long has it been since you thought about it?” he asks as she’s taking her first sip.

Clarke looks at him, confused. “Thought about what?”

Although he doesn’t respond, Bellamy’s grin turns even more radiant, empowering the sparks in his dark eyes.

_ Damn it, the case; _the valuable piece of evidence that they can’t find, not even with joined efforts. 

“We’ll figure it out, Princess,” he says, placing his hand on her shoulder; the heat from his palm bleeds through her button-up and into her skin. “Just enjoy your Friday night.” For a second, she thinks she hears genuine concern dripping at the edges of his voice. Before she’s processed it, though, he’s pulling the pin from her hair, ruining the neat bun just as she expected he would. 

She hasn’t even thought about how smudged her lipstick must be, not until this moment. 

It makes her chest spark with excitement, brings goosebumps to her skin. 

Of course, this reaction doesn’t escape him. Bellamy leans closer, smirking against the back of her neck, and whispers, “Where do you want me next?” 

Clarke doesn’t have enough patience to leave the living room, which is why he ends up eating her out right here, on a couch that’s way too expensive for such messy activities. Still, to his credit, he cleans her up nicely, making sure to suck every drop of arousal off her folds and inner thighs when he’s not shamelessly licking into her. Because he didn’t do this last night, his enthusiasm is surprising and the all-consuming pleasure of it numbs her mind. 

“_God, _Bellamy—” she gasps, tugging at his hair as another orgasm builds, swirling in the pit of her stomach. 

He growls then squeezes her thigh; she feels his hand flex at the motion, and a loud whimper flies past her lips. Suddenly, he takes his mouth off her to ask, “What do you need, Baby? I’ll give it to you.” 

For a couple seconds, the promise sticks to the dense air between them. Even though Clarke wants to _ tell _him, it’s easier to take his hand and guide it to her throat. She isn’t looking directly at him, but she senses his heavy gaze lingering on her face. 

He doesn’t take his warm fingers off her throat, and her breath grows more strained with every passing second. “Hey, look at me.”

When she gathers herself enough to meet his intense stare, Bellamy wets his lips. “Are you sure you trust me enough to do this? I haven’t exactly been nice to you.”

Sure, it feels good to hear him admit that, but she’s too affected by her growing desire to dwell on it too much. Biting the inside of her cheek, she replies, “I don’t want you to be nice to me.” 

“_Fuck, _Clarke. Do you trust me or not? That’s all I need to know.”

In spite of how he likes to drive her up the wall every single day, this question is easy to answer. “Yes, I trust you.” Trust is about respect, not necessarily friendship or kindness. Bellamy has always respected her, even though he loathes her privilege — and she can’t fault him for that. 

“Safeword?” 

Glancing at the bottle and the half-empty glasses on the coffee table, Clarke decides, “Merlot,” causing a smirk shows on his lips. It’s perhaps the most pretentious safeword ever chosen, but _ whatever_, they probably won’t need it anyway.

His hand is so big that it easily wraps around her entire throat. He’s not even applying any form of pressure yet, but the touch is all it takes to make her breath hitch. Following a moment of obvious pondering, Bellamy leaves his free hand between her legs. Then he pushes two long fingers into her cunt, drawing a strained gasp from her. 

For a second, she forgets that he’s holding her throat, but she is reminded of it in the _ best _way possible when his fingers start to compress it. 

It’s not as rough as she expects, lasting only a couple seconds until he relieves the pressure again. She’s about to protest when he thrusts his fingers deeper into her, crooking them until they touch a spot that makes her see stars. At her answering moan, his hand tightens around her throat again. 

Clarke realizes now that he’s using her kink to _ reward _her for the sounds that she’s making. 

In a way, that’s both frustrating and hot as hell. 

_ Fuck him, honestly. _

She releases a needy whimper when her breath stutters; this time, he chokes her until the only thing that she can sense through the thick haze in her mind is his hot stare burning into her. Like this, it feels as if she’s floating somewhere far above land, amongst the fluorescent nebulas of the universe. 

Slowly, Clarke is brought back to Earth as her breath returns and his hand loosens its grip. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look when… _ Christ. _You like having my hand wrapped around your pretty little throat, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she croaks, too riled up to bother playing it down. 

Groaning, Bellamy lets his thumb graze her throbbing pulse; his fingertips dance along it as he rubs circles on her clit for a minute. Even though the touch makes her squirm and has pleasure shooting up her spine, the only thing she really wants is to feel his hand compressing her throat again. He isn’t stupid, so he must know this, and yet he’s forcing her to wait. 

It’s borderline torturous when she’s been hovering over the edge for way too long already. In the end, she stares at him, frowning. “What do you want me to do? Beg for it?”

At her audible frustration, Bellamy flashes a shit-eating grin. “Yeah, and make sure I can hear just how much you mean it.”

She could _ kill _ him right now. And yet, she’s so close that her pride doesn’t matter all that much. If stroking his ego is what she needs to do to get there, then fuck it. “_Please, _Bellamy. Choke me.” 

His full lips brush her forehead before his fingers compress her throat. 

_ Oh. Fuck. _

As he rubs her g-spot with his fingers, he applies even more pressure to her airway; for a second, it’s dizzying, and then the fire engulfs her chest, filling her to the brim with sweltering pleasure. She hears herself gasp but doesn’t feel the sound leave her body. The orgasm overwhelms her senses, even as Bellamy slowly relieves the pressure from her throat, allowing her to breathe. 

In her twenty-seven years on this planet, Clarke has never felt this good. 

Vaguely aware of the tears that have welled up in her eyes, she pushes herself up on her elbows to kiss him. She can still taste herself on his tongue and feels him smile against her lips. 

“Well, thanks Princess,” is what he pants when they break apart. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget this.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to make my day, feel free to leave a comment or kudos down below 🥰


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